


You Type Fast

by LadyLazarus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLazarus/pseuds/LadyLazarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an old fic I kept forgetting to transfer here from tumblr.</p><p>from my own prompt: can we talk about how beautiful typing is? Like especially if you’re typing fast, to a good techno song or something and you’re just beating out word after word and it feels so good and looks so cray that you’ve coordinated 10 fingers to reach around each other in different positions to communicate thoughts? It’s like playing an instrument, but you do it in the smallest places like in chats and for essays and that one comment on a reblog or your tags and the faster you go, it  just looks crazier and more beautiful. Idk man, typing</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Type Fast

Beacon Hills was mess, what with all of its supernatural shit going on every two seconds, and Scott was still really reluctant to pass on messages to Stiles, so Derek started to have to deliver it himself.

And Stiles was keen enough to let Derek in if he could go off in a million directions about “ghost-this” and “witches-that” and “omg Derek are you even listening, this is BAD, but cool, but BAD TOO ya know?”

And First Derek is just sitting there listening to ectoplasmic theories while Stiles is typing countless bullet points into a word doc for him for later when he inevitably cannot capture every single ounce of tangential lore.

"You type so fast." Derek blurts out and it’s just out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Stiles pauses and looks at his hands like they were doing something he didn’t even realize.

"I guess, yeah. They have to keep up with this thing," he says, tapping his head. He rubs the pad of his thumb against his fingers and taps the spacebar and the backspace alternately until he remembers his train of thought.

~*~

The fourth or fifth time Scott tells Derek to take care of his own shit, Derek notices the glow in Stiles’ face as he explains something about magnetic fields and pigeons.

Derek can’t remember what that has to do with wood-golems, but he nods accordingly. Stiles’ fingers are long and they look soft. They look like the kind that are cold at first, but warm up in your hands quickly. When they’re flying through the air, they look like feathers. At this point, he doesn’t expect Stiles to care that he’s not listening. He can’t listen really, because Stiles’ fingers are so close his face and to Stiles’ face and to Stiles’ lips and it’s too much really when you feel like you might be caring for someone and it’s been years since someone touched  _you._

 _  
_and since someone loved you.

~*~

So then the next few times, Derek tries really hard not to look at Stiles’ fingers, but then he still zones out and Stiles is right there with a grimace, snapping his  _fucking_ fingers in Derek’s face and it’s over for him.

At that moment all beauty has left Derek’s thoughts concerning Stiles’ fingers and seeing him type on that damn keyboard is just wanting those fingers playing across his body.

His fantasy?

Derek imagines Stiles hovering over him, the ghost of his breath dancing into the crook of his neck as Derek whimpers against the softy grating feeling of Stiles’ fingertips down his chest and over his belly. There’s his right index and thumb pinching at his nipple, and Derek gasps, arching into the touch, only to have Stiles spread his hand out, press only the ends of his fingers to his skin, clutch and dig a little and push him back on the mattress.

And then there’s Stiles purposely leaving the lightest of scratch marks as he pulls his boxers all the way down past his knees, those wretched nails leaving sparks all the way down his inner thighs and down his calves. Derek is hard, wanting, mewling in the pain-pleasure, begging.

There’s Stiles stroking his face, cooing at the messy state he’s in. It’s as if Derek has no body, he’s a ghost slipped into Derek’s body. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t speak, but Stiles is there to take care of him and to make him better. His fingers cause him so much delicious, crazy pain, waiting for them to just fuck him, but they heal too. They’re curled around his arms and pushing back his sweaty bangs and then

fuck

curled around his cock, stroking him until he almost comes. He stops and then, as Derek shudders, Stiles starts to circle his hole, playing at the entrance, feeling the tight stretch of his ass, and it’s just going to be too much for Derek.

His fist are wrapped in the sheets, he can’t breathe. And then Stiles is sucking on his own fingers, getting them wet, stroking at his hole while reaching over for some real lube, never giving Derek a break from this torture. Stiles has the power to destroy Derek

and he is, in the most beautiful way Derek can imagine.

And then  _fuck_ Stiles’ fingers are actually pushing into him. He didn’t even start with one, just went for two, pressing, kneading the first knuckle against him in all directions, opening him up and turning him to fearful, writhing insanity.

The sheets are shredded underneath Derek and Stiles laughs, gyrating his wrist so that his fingertips make a spiral deeper into Derek and he screams out as Stiles hooks one finger into Derek’s prostate.

God. God damn it! Stiles laughs a little, takes his other hand and strokes down Derek’s ribs and fists his cock once, twice, pulls off again, despite the wrecked moans that tumble out of Derek’s throat. And then they’re at his nipples again as Stiles adds a third finger to the mix and Derek comes, shooting, even though he usually doesn’t, and making a further mess of himself and the bed and Stile’s face.

_fuck_

_  
_~*~

So then it’s all over from there and Derek tries to avoid going to Stiles’ place for a couple weeks.

Then there’s a couple Wendigos and they’re really fucking fast and Derek has to suck it up and go to Stiles’.

He’s sitting there in the July night heat with a fan, eating a popsicle and it’s melting all over his fingers and Derek makes to leave, but Stiles already saw him, beckons him in and Derek has no choice.

He settles in the chair next to Stiles like he always does, like it’s natural, though he feels robotic and like his ass is too tight and Stiles smiles at him.

He’s explaining something and Derek loses all focus as Stiles starts to suck off the syrup that melted onto his fingers, tossing away the wrapper and the stick into the trash bin. Derek’s mouth is open a little and he can’t help staring, though he manages to wrench his eyes away for a brief second or two.

But then Stiles is standing over Derek with his sticky cherry fingers and he leans down, pulling at Derek’s bottom lip with his thumb.

Derek can taste the cherry popsicle.

and Stiles whispers into his ear, breath hot, flaming hot, “I know what you want. I know you want a taste.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr as [Foolproofpoem. ](http://foolproofpoem.tumblr.com)Come say hello!


End file.
